Chapter Text
Mitsuki focused on the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor of Aldera’s hallway, doing her best to ignore the stares from the few irresponsible students who had decided to skip class and loiter in the corridors. She could feel their teenage eyes locked onto her body. Maybe once upon a time, she might’ve enjoyed that kind of attention—but now, it was just annoying.
“Ugh, control yourselves, you damn horny brats,” she thought as she walked.
But she held her tongue. Contrary to what most people believed about her, Mitsuki was generally a calm woman—she didn’t go around yelling at everyone all the time. Besides, she wasn’t in any position to be shouting at other people’s kids. That was the job of their own damn parents.
(Who could certainly do a better job of teaching their kids not to skip class or ogle a married woman so shamelessly.)
Wanting to shake off the feeling of being watched and judged, she reminded herself why she was even there in the first place. Anyone would’ve assumed she was at the school to pick up her son, Katsuki, after he'd gotten into trouble for his usual bad temper. And in part, Mitsuki would admit that such assumptions weren’t entirely wrong—though they weren’t exactly right either.
After all… it wasn’t her son who had gotten into trouble this time.
Her thoughts—and her footsteps—came to a stop as she finally reached the door to the principal’s office, staring at the dull gray metal with a small plaque that read “Principal Takahuma.” She inhaled, then exhaled, trying to push out the nerves and unease from her chest with each breath. Mitsuki already had a gut feeling this conversation wouldn’t be an easy one.
She raised her hand and knocked twice on the door’s hard surface, the sound of her knuckles echoing against the metal.
“Come in,” replied a muffled male voice from the other side.
Mitsuki took one last breath—still unsure what exactly she would find, though the outlines were already forming in her mind—then opened the door before she could hesitate or change her mind.
Aldera’s principal’s office wasn’t anything special. A desk, a few filing cabinets lining the walls, a nearly empty trophy case, and a couple of dying plants wilting in the corners. The most notable thing in the room was the desk at the center, behind which sat a bald, heavyset man. A pair of expensive-looking glasses rested on his nose, and the two small antennae protruding from his forehead were just another forgettable detail about Principal Takahuma—at least to Mitsuki, who barely registered him at all.
Her attention had already locked onto the other person in the room.
A green-haired boy sat slouched in one of the chairs facing the desk, his head bowed, staring down at his hands. He didn’t react to her presence—unlike the man behind the desk.
“Ah, Mrs. Bakugou!” the man greeted, spreading his arms in a performative gesture of welcome—his politeness clearly an act. “We really appreciate you arriving so quickly.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t have anything else planned today,” she replied calmly, choosing not to call out his insincerity as she sat down in the empty chair next to the green-haired boy. “But I’d like to know exactly why I was called here.”
“Ah, well, you see, Mrs. Bakugou… young Midoriya here…” he threw a brief glance at the boy, filled with clear disdain and contempt, “was involved in a fight with three of his classmates.”
Mitsuki looked at the green-haired boy, who still had his head down, eyes fixed on his hands. Now she noticed the scrapes and dried blood on them. His uniform was dirty and disheveled, the sleeves scorched, and smudges of dirt covering the fabric. She stared a few seconds longer, looking for more traces—more signs of the fight.
(Waiting for him to lift his head and meet her gaze.)
But the boy kept staring at his bloodied hands, ignoring both her and the man beside him.
Mitsuki turned her head and looked back at the principal, just in time to catch him quickly wiping away a small smile from his face.
“And where are the other students? Their parents?” she asked, holding back the rising anger sparked by that smile. The principal raised an eyebrow, curious, waiting for elaboration. “If there was a fight, then the other kids involved should be here with their parents too, shouldn’t they?”
The man remained silent for a moment, taking off his expensive glasses and cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief from his pocket. Then he put them back on, laced his fingers together, and finally responded.
“We’ve already called the other parents, Mrs. Bakugou,” he said calmly—speaking a sentence that sent a chill down her spine. “They’re with their sons in the infirmary right now. Poor boys are being treated for the bruises and burns Midoriya caused during the fight.”
Mitsuki didn’t show it on her face, but a cold sensation settled in her chest as she realized this situation might be worse than she had initially imagined. She glanced sideways at the green-haired boy beside her, but he still wasn’t paying attention to the conversation—his focus remained on the blood on his hands.
“As you can imagine, Mrs. Bakugou, the boys’ parents are quite upset and were considering suing you,” the principal said casually. Mitsuki’s eyes widened in shock at his words. The man, however, looked completely unbothered by the entire situation—or by the condition of his students. A displeasing smile tugged at his lips as he went on, “Fortunately, I was able to calm them down and help them see that a lawsuit would only end up harming your family, Mrs. Bakugou. There’s no need to ruin your family’s spotless reputation and your son’s bright future—especially not over the actions of a troubled child who isn’t even part of the family.”
A flicker of anger flared in Mitsuki’s mind, cutting through the pressure and worry. Because the truth was—Izuku was part of the family.
(At least legally...)
“So instead, they’ve demanded that Midoriya receive a punishment proportional to their sons’ injuries,” the principal continued, still smiling like he was doing everyone a favor. “Thankfully, we were able to come to an agreement: Midoriya will receive a two-week suspension. A fair punishment, wouldn’t you say?”
Clenching her teeth hard and suppressing the urge to yell at the smug bastard, Mitsuki rose stiffly from her chair. The green-haired boy followed her lead and stood up as well.
“Thank you very much for your help, Principal Takahuma,” she forced herself to say, bowing politely so he wouldn’t see the scowl forming on her face. “I deeply appreciate your actions...”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mitsuki noticed Izuku bowing too, clutching his dirty yellow backpack tightly against his chest.
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Bakugou. It was my pleasure,” the man said, practically basking in the authority his position gave him. “You can go now.”
Without another word—and without wanting to say anything at all—Mitsuki and Izuku straightened up and turned toward the door, never looking back. She opened it and stepped aside, letting the green-haired boy walk out first before following him and closing the door behind them.
. . .
The walk to Mitsuki’s car was silent—neither of them knew what to say after everything that had just happened. When they finally reached the vehicle, they got in without a word. Mitsuki took the driver’s seat, and Izuku climbed into the back. Both buckled their seatbelts… and nothing more.
Silence stretched between them. Izuku sat with his head bowed, staring at his scraped, bloody hands. Mitsuki pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling like the weight of an ocean was pressing down on her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and think carefully about what to say to the teenager sitting behind her.
(She never really knew how to deal with him.)
“Izuku,” she said firmly, feeling ready as she turned in her seat to look at him. The boy let out a faint hum in response, just enough to show he was listening—but he didn’t lift his gaze. “Izuku. I want to know what happened. Why did you fight your classmates? I know you're not a violent kid.”
(Or at least, that’s what she liked to believe…)
Izuku remained silent, still toying with his injured hands, his eyes fixed on them. Mitsuki was just starting to think he was going to ignore her—when, finally, he answered. Only three words.
“They insulted Mom...”
“Oh...” she exhaled softly, caught off guard by the response. “I see...”
Without saying anything else, Mitsuki fixed her gaze on the steering wheel, her mind turning over what he’d said. She understood that feeling all too well—that fierce, protective anger toward anyone who dared insult the ray of sunshine that was Inko Midoriya.
No one understood it better than her. She had done the same thing so many times in the past that she’d lost count. She’d been doing it ever since she met that sweet green-haired girl who loved candy and sunsets.
When was the last time she defended Inko...?
It had definitely been before they became adults...
Before Inko met that guy, Hisashi...
Before Inko became one of the most infamous villains in Japanese history...
(Mitsuki could still remember those weeks after Inko’s first crime alongside Hisashi…)
(Weeks filled with denial, confusion, anger, fear, sadness, and loss…)
Nowadays, she didn’t even flinch when someone insulted Inko. Because she knew those people had every right to hate her—for the things she’d done. Mitsuki understood that. She accepted it.
(But that didn’t mean she liked it.)
She said nothing. And neither did Izuku.
She started the car and began to drive.
. . .
After a while of driving in silence, letting the sound of the engine and the city’s noise fill the space between them, they finally arrived at the green-haired boy’s home. A house granted to Izuku Midoriya by the state and the HPSC—due to his unique situation and for “everyone’s safety.”
(And when they said “everyone,” they meant her and the rest of the population—not Izuku.)
The state and the HPSC called it a “temporary care and protection residence,” but Mitsuki knew exactly what it really was: a cage. Even the outside of the house gave off that feeling, despite its initial appearance as an ordinary suburban home: the indifferent gray of the walls, the subtle “seismic reinforcements” gridding the bulletproof windows, the dead front yard replaced by concrete, and the thick metal front door equipped with a peephole.
All of that was already far too much for a fourteen-year-old kid. And yet, Mitsuki could still spot a discreet camera watching the front entrance—along with the other cameras she knew were inside the house. And then there was the house’s location. Within a 400-meter radius stood a police station, a fire station, and a hero agency!
If all of that didn’t scream that Izuku was being watched inside his own home, then Mitsuki didn’t know what would. The only bit of comfort she could find was the fact that, at least for now, they hadn’t assigned anyone to live with him for even closer supervision.
(Yet...)
“Here we're,” she announced, stopping the car but not turning it off.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Bakugou,” the green-haired boy said, opening the door and stepping out of the car, his yellow backpack hanging from his arm.
Mitsuki blinked at the way he addressed her. “Hey, kid, you know you don’t have to be so formal with me, right?” she rolled her eyes, uncomfortable with him calling her that—maybe because she was supposed to be his guardian.
(Or maybe because he was Inko’s son...)
“You can just call me Mitsuki.”
The green-haired boy froze at her words, his eyes widening in clear surprise.
“Oh… I… Thank you, Mitsuki-san,” he finally said, avoiding eye contact, unsure of how to respond.
She snorted, smiling at his awkwardness. “Anytime, kid.”
The boy gave Mitsuki a quick bow before turning and heading toward his house, never looking back at her. She watched how his green hair swayed in the wind as he opened the door and stepped inside. The sight brought back nostalgic memories—and a strange sense of hope—to Mitsuki.
(She hoped she wasn’t repeating her mistakes by trusting him.)
(She didn’t want to fail him the way she had failed Inko...)